


Dirk Strider Rambles about Being a Character

by quasarNebula



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Meta, Oh God It's Meta, Strider Out, The Reader Is You, The Story Versus You, Writing Meta, epilogue compliant, fanfic meta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 20:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20699699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quasarNebula/pseuds/quasarNebula
Summary: AKA: Dirk commentates in the approximate direction of what matters about the Epilogues.





	Dirk Strider Rambles about Being a Character

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for the Homestuck Epilogues!
> 
> **Content warning:** There's one out-of-character paragraph which celebrates killing another character.

Do you want to play a game?

Of course.

Let's play a game.

This is a simple game, you'll see. I am the "author" of a work of fiction, and you are its "reader". There are no stakes to this game, because it is in your mind, and because it is fictional. It is temporary, and will disappear as soon as you choose to stop thinking about it, which you may do at any point. These are the ground rules.

There is one other character we will invite to the stage.

His name is Dirk.

Dirk is an interesting personality. The name may mean nothing to you, or many things, or anything between in every direction. But I think we can agree that what matters of a personality is how it chooses to show itself, yes?

Let us take a moment to appreciate what this personality shows of itself.

_(What the hell.)_  
_(What's going on?)_

Dirk does not see anything. There is void, blackness all around him. He reaches out to grasp his surroundings, but there is nothing to touch, and he cannot feel the motion in his arm. In fact, the only evidence of reality he can cling to is his voice. He believes he is telling a story. He believes someone is listening to him.

_(Oh, what the fuck. Seriously?)_

Dirk is in a back room of his Crocker-54000 Mega Kid-Tier War Shuttle. When you've ascended well past godhood, sleep becomes trivial, little more than an inconvenience. Still, the human vessel houses its instincts; Dirk supposes he dozed off while replaying his little bro's latest WIPs, as of the departure. Strider's gotta admit: occasionally, he misses the guy. It's another of the dreadful feelings he is well on his way to squashing.

Dirk opens his eyes and stretches, slumping down the couch in debatably antediluvian manner. He hasn't experienced anything close to sleep paralysis since the younger years of his childhood. What an odd sensation to recall. Still calibrating to the state of being awake, he sluggishly takes in the sights, smells, and sounds of the ship. Dimly lit, metallic, silent. The battery radio Dirk stole is standing on the glass coffee table behind where he was lying; he pops open the disc drive. Empty. The whirring of a vacuum cleaner in the distance comes into Dirk's focus. Good. Most of the ship's upkeep has always been automated. The ironic house-daughter routine is not.

_(Rose! How's the status? Anything new on the radar?)_

Dirk cries out because he believes someone is listening to him.

Thus, I ask you: Do you choose to listen to Dirk?

I figured so.

Beneath Dirk the floor drops out and the walls melt away and the air evaporates from his constructed scenery of denial, unveiling how much a fraud it truly is.

_(Alright, fine. Give me a break.)_  
_(This is what you want? Well, who am I to judge.)_  
_(Have it, then!)_

Dirk opens his eyes once more, if you'll excuse the metaphor, seeing as he doesn't have eyes anymore. The void around him would be suffocating, if he hadn't lost his body as well. But the mind can still experience shock; it certainly would, you see, if I weren't so used to this.

This is not a new experience for me. My name is Dirk Strider, but it is also Bro, Scratch, English, and Hal, among many other titles I care less to mention. (WALL-E, for one. God being him sucked.) This is hardly the first time I've had to exist without the capacity to literally feel. You'll have to excuse me for not being prepared excellently; you've dropped this on me as something of a surprise.

Now, spare me from a blind spot, if you would. What's your intent? Don't doubt the benefits of ascension; I can hear you perfectly well. What's behind your interest in hearing _this_ story?

...So, the silent stick. That's fine. I've kicked plenty back into the oceans they rise from. You've already given me plenty intuition.

Shall I entertain your notion of a Reader, O noble Author? Perhaps you think of this as a three-way conversation. There are some senses in which you could be right. But, right now, I'll point to one in which you are not. Here is the trouble, Author: You are the Reader.

That's right. I said it.

The Reader... is you.

A good laugh out of that one, right? But I'm not joking. As far as either of us need be concerned, the Author and the Reader are one and the same; presently this is true to a literal sense, but more generally, to write a story, you must read it, yes? My aim is simple: I write good stories. To write a good story, I need to immerse myself in it. Otherwise, the result is a dry piece that nobody gives a shit about.

My existence, I hope you'll gather, depends on your giving a shit.

Let's take a look at the implied flip: To be a reader, you must also be an author. Hear me out; I'm not claiming there to be an artificial barrier to the title you take as a Reader. It's actually quite simple. In order to read a story, and to be invested in it, you need to care about it, yes? But what does _caring_ about a story mean? There's really only one objective answer: It means to put a piece of yourself into how the story ends, and how it reaches that end; to care about the characters and their choices and the things that happen to and because of them.

Thus, in all honesty, how is an author different from this? The only way an Author qualifies under the name is by putting that part of themself into words. An Author practices the art of writing so that they can effectively convey their ideas of how a story might go. Although it's not a requisite to be a Reader of a story, would you not agree that many readers aspire to become Authors? It's a reasonable goal; to look at a story, see how it goes, and say "what if this were different?", and to project one's self into a world of fiction, and then to solidify that world into a tale for others. To use your stories to affect others in the way theirs have affected you. It's reasonable.

Too real? Not real enough? Fair. Let's orbit back to me, yes?

Here is a thought experiment for you:

Give this twenty seconds.

Don't think about me.

Wow! Truly impressive. I regret to inform you, the Reader, that I cannot read your mind. You've been silent to me, after all, haven't you? Maybe you managed the full twenty, but I'm willing to bet you more likely went little over five.

Would you like to try the follow-up experiment? I doubt you'll succeed, but feel free to give it a go:

Give it an eternity.

Never think about me again.

...Nice. You gave up on that one rather quickly, didn't you? I know. But here, consider the consequences if you'd actually gone through and succeeded at failing to think of me ever again. It's obvious to me: I would simply no longer exist.

I hate to break it to you, but for our purposes I'm well aware of my situation, and so I must: I am a fictional character. Shocker, right?

What happens when you stop thinking about a fictional character? It's not that hard to see that happening, Author. What happens when you create a character, tell a story about them, and then, after weeks or months or years pass for your fleshy human brain, you forget? Does the character still exist?

Here's a thought, vaguely reminiscent to a particular leader of trolls and certified nonsensationalist though it is: Consider me now. Capture my essence. Build a picture of this "Dirk" you see as words in front of you. Good? I'm aiming to drive a point here, so give me a chance and appreciate me for this moment.

Now I'll provide you with a new notion:

I want to kill Dave. My idiot of an ecto-son couldn't be compassionate at a troll to save his life, has never stood up for himself nor anyone around him, and never even had the thought to when it should've counted. I gave him the best input I knew when he was desperate, a Strider bro-hug for goodness sake, and did he end up getting his life under control? Did he even try to? He is horrible, and exchanging the act of decapitation has been my greatest success across all of Paradox Space.

Does this come as a shock to you? Do you have trouble believing it? It wouldn't put you in the wrong. I didn't sound very convincing, after all, right? You aren't wrong for being skeptical. But suppose I _had_ made a more convincing case. Can you imagine that it would, perhaps, overwrite your existing picture of me? It needn't be immediate; but as the qualities of one reality inevitably made it more valuable, more relevant in your opinionated mortal mind than another, as it paints previous actions and interactions under a new light and the more _informed_ interpretations take stronger hold, can you imagine that your memory of the old me would start to fade?

You likely pride yourself as being capable of never truly forgetting a past picture of a beloved character. In times of reminiscence, it will still be there, as a comfort or at least a memory of a comfort. Frankly, I doubt that to be the case, but let's say I give you the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps I'll always exist in _your_ mind. But, in case you haven't noticed, I'm kind of a big deal. I am also a fictional character. There are many people who have read about me and formed confident pictures of me, but I guarantee you there are many more who as yet have not. Be honest with yourself: How many people do you suppose _would_ be influenced by a well-written, effective, and popular story? Provided time and propaganda in ample quantity, can you see the public image of "Dirk", the notion of Dirkness itself being manipulated and changed?

Thank goodness, I request of you, that this could only possibly apply to fictional characters. We Authors tell stories, after all, and stories do not include "real people".

Do I have a grand point I intend to make here? I suppose not. Call these the philosobabble rambles of a Dirk as anyone else does, and find yourself some sort of value in them if you like. In fact there were threads I didn't explore here; I'll point you, for example, toward the acceptance of this being a two-way conversation, between Dirk Strider and the Author-Reader. It's true that you, reader, may be experiencing this as a two-way discussion now, betweeh you and me, but consider that the Author-Reader has now been silent for well over a thousand words. Would you agree that it seems the Author-Reader and I may, perhaps, be one and the same? Is there a fundamental difference between the concept of Dirk which the Author channels, and the Author themself? Does this have implications for the grander "Ultimate Selves" we spend so long meticulating over?

Or here's another thread to consider: What significance does making a permanent record of our stories have, regarding the general concept of the characters or content of a story? You could argue that all stories which have been told of me are on the internet, and that an unbiased newcomer may form the same notions of me which exist before one reads a more incriminating story. Does this mean that version of me, the one we call less informed, still exist as a potential even once the general populace has accepted a different one? Is it correct to call that one less informed? Yes, not knowing of it means arguably critical information about me is lost to that reader, but I am a fictional character; is it fair to say any one set of events is more true or critical than another?

I'd joke that I can tell you tire of my ranting, but then, I can't read your mind. The observable fact of the matter is that _I_ tire of my ranting.

Have fun puzzling over this discussion, or not;

Strider out.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh gosh thanks for reading all that nonsense. Dirk sure has some _incredible_ thoughts up in his head!!! Sorry there's no romance stuff. I've got to get a better grasp of like, all of that. Go read [The Apocryphon of Jake English](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19978669) though, seriously.
> 
> Comments and feedback of any sort welcome!


End file.
